This is what really happened
by readyrose
Summary: SPOILER FOR SEASON 3 Andrea's death scene involved Michonne and Andrea being alone for a while before she was shot. However, we never got to see what happened once they were alone...so here it is. ENJOY! I'm not a good writer, I know, but it was fun doing this anyway :3


I feel like tiger trapped in cage; capable of so much yet reduced to nothing by a corrupt dipshit. He wants me to turn. Poor Milton sits slouched against the wall opposite the chair I am bound to and his face is pale from the blood that has been drained from him because of the wound in his gut that Philip has left him with. The Governors cruel words circle my thoughts as I stare helplessly at Milton's frail body.

"Now you're gonna die and you're gonna turn, and you're gonna tear the flesh from her bones. In this life, you kill or you die... Or you die and you kill".

I let out a whimper of hopelessness as tears build up inside my eyes. Milton liftes his head at the sound of my cry. Strangely, his eyes are wide with an emotion I can't decipher so I glance down to where he's looking, however nothing is there.

"What? Milton, what's wrong!?" My voice breaks as I question the helpless man's action. Immediately, Milton's eyes meet mine but now they are full of urgency.

"There, beside your right foot! There's a pair of pliers I left for you so you can cut yourself free." My chest tightens at the possibility of survival so I get myself together and begin desperately searching for the pliers with my foot. As soon as my my toes hit the cool metal of the pliers, I let out a pathetic smile and laugh. Clutching, the pliers with my toes I start the difficult procedure of getting the pliers to my bound hands.

"Andrea," I look up to meet Milton's gaze,"no, carry on doing that but listen to me while you do."

Nodding, I continued the task.

"When I turn, I need you to kill me. Stab me in the head." His voice is dry and every word he says sounds like wood on sandpaper as he grows weaker. I lock eyes with Milton's sunken and now slightly misty eyes and nod with a sad smile. Once Milton breaks eye contact with me, I push my foot as high as I can at an angle that is extremely uncomfortable and just manage to clench the tip of the pliers with my shaking finger. Relief washes over me and my body shudders in excitement and hope. I take deep breaths to stay calm and collected, however my breaths are raspy and shaken. Suddenly, the welcoming cold of the metal pliers disappears and a deafening clunk of metal on cement makes me let out a sound of desperate anger. I look back at Milton, expecting to see disappointment and worry written all over his face but instead I see a limp body and a head that droops as it can't be supported.

Terror swims through my veins as I come to the realisation that I am running out of time. Tears cascade down my face as I hysterically attempt to grasp the pliers between my toes once again. There's still time.

There's still a chance.

I can survive.

Don't mourn over Milton yet, Andrea.

Michonne will turn up.

The group will save me.

I keep whispering these wishes to myself in hope that they will come true because the quest to get the pliers seems more and more futile.

Then, at the corner of my eye I see Miltons fingers twitch. I tell myself i'm imagining it because i'm panicking and the tears are blurring my vision. However, there's no denying reality when Milton's head twitches upwards and his jaw grinds into place. There's no doubt about it, Milton has already turned. His skin looks like old leather, which exaggerates the wrinkles that lines his forehead and the deep bags under his eyes. Miltons eyes are no longer the cold colour they used to be. Instead they are misty and blood shot, the whites of his eyes now a sickly orange. The appearance of the new walker causes me to flinch back in my chair as the memory of my sister swarmed my mind. "STOP IT!" I screech at myself as I have to get myself together, in order to cut my self out of this chair before I become Milton's meal. No. He's not Milton anymore. Milton is dead. This is just another hungry walker.

With a new boost of pressure placed on me I force emotion away and grasp the pliers with my toes and bend awkwardly to reach my fingers. This time, it goes smoothly. I manage the grasp the pliers more tightly and bend them toward my trapped wrists. With my wrist bent in a way that seems almost impossible, I begin to gnaw at the material.

Milton- I mean the walker has slowly made his way to his feet and is now glaring at me with a look that is all too familiar. It's going to bite me if I don't break this damn material. I'm half way there and with some more aggression, I reckon I can make it in time. The walkers grunting has begun and its heavy footsteps start to head my way. Almost there. A quarter to go. I don't dare to look up as I would be wasting time but I can hear the walker getting closer and faster. Tears are flooding back because I'm so frightened but I keep going. I have to live.

The material snaps and I burst into action, whipping the pliers outwards as I rotate towards the walker. But the walker isn't there. It is latched to the top of my shoulder.

I scream in agony as the pain infiltrates my body. Maybe it is all psychological, but I can feel the infection begin to course through my body. Anger pierces my mind, like lightening through a cloud, so I plunge the pliers deep into the walkers skull as it starts to pull away the flesh from my body. The crack of the skull makes me feel many emotions. I am pleased that the walker is dead and can't cause further harm but I am also saddened that I lost Milton and the pliers are inches inside his brain because of me. He asked you to do it Andrea, it's okay.

The walker gargles slightly before slumping to the ground once I pry the pliers from its head. Looking down at the body, the walkers eyes are wide but lifeless and the head wound is seeping with thick, black blood. I gag at the sight and quickly look away.

Then it all comes at once.

The regret for falling for the Governor. He was power thirsty. He called himself the governor for fucks sake Andrea! That should have given away the fact that he is a man to stay away from! Naming himself after an occupation that provides too much power, which leads to greed if put in the wrong hands. I can't believe I even touched that physco. He's out there now on his way to kill my group and i'm sat here like the damsel in distress and it's all my fault. Maybe I deserve what has happened to me because I put my group in danger.

The group have been with me since I an remember. Constantly supporting each other and forming a bond that I thought could only be made if you were related. They were my family. How can I be so dumb?

I put Michonne in danger. After all she's done for me. I wouldn't have survived without her strength and determination beside me because I fell sick for months and I needed someone to care for me. That someone was Michonne. Her motherly instincts she had formed for her child shone through her as she took care of me through out the winter. The cement wall she creates around herself to strangers is hard to breakdown but once you have, she's the only one you can ever think about. Her perfect smiles that illuminate her eyes and make her cheeks puff out. Her deep brown eyes that have seen so much suffering so they are usually stone cold with concentration or thought. Her dreads that make her look bad-ass and frame her face perfectly.

And her hands, that were often clothed with gloves but when unclothed they were soft, caring and I just wanted to hold them in my hands.

I thought of the day when I had fallen extremely ill, while me and Michonne were trapped inside a shop, safe from walkers that attacked the barracked doors and windows.

Michonne had tried everything to build up my strength but nothing seemed to do the job. I watched her rush from cupboard to cupboard in this shop and I kept thinking why she was still with me. Why would she stay and protect me when I was this useless? She could easily just walk away and not look back if she wanted to but she hadn't.

I told her to stop or she would start to run low on energy as well. With a lot more persuasion, she did eventually give up and sat beside me. We sat silent for a minute or two, with the occasional dry cough from me. Then I felt a hand slide into my hair at the back of my head so I looked sideways to Michonne with a confused look on my face. She was looking deep into my eyes with a gentle look on her face. This woman was beautiful. I took her all in at that moment because I didn't want to forget one feature of her stunning face.

Slowly, I reached out to Michonnes shoulders and wrapped my arms around her neck. She then used her other hand to manoeuvre my legs over hers so I sat over her, snuggling into her neck as she played with my grimy hair and brushed her hands up and down my arm. Every piece of skin she touched felt electrified with passion but instead of pushing our lips together, we sat together for hours and listened to each others sleepy breaths until the walkers outside strode away.

I snap back into reality and look around in hope that i'm there beside Michonne but of course not, I'm still in this torture chamber beside a dead walker. My life is going to be over in the next hour or two and I personally don't want to be in the chair when I pass so I begin to cut at the material on my other hand. It was much easier this time and much faster.

Rubbing at my sore writs, I look around and take in my surroundings. This is where I will die. My last memory will be me staring at the blood-stained walls, waiting to die in here; a torture chamber. Many damaged souls must be trapped in this room because of Philips mental state and methods of torture. I am going to join them. Maybe Milton will be there waiting for me. Maybe Amy will find me.

I hobble over to the wall closest to the locked exit and sit against it, just as Milton had before he died. A feeble laugh arose as I reconciled with my stupidity once again.

In the distance, beyond the walls of the torture chamber, I hear gun shots. Probably just the people on look out shooting the walkers. Although, the gun shots continue. The walkers may have infiltrated Woodbury; I hope that they have so Philips efforts would crumble beneath him however I then remember all the innocent and clueless lives that live in Woodbury.

Depressive thoughts continue to strangle me as my life seeps away from my body. I always wondered what dying felt like. It feels like depression, it feels like your whole body is numb and weak and your head is fuzzy with too many thoughts or maybe no thoughts at all. I feel disgusted at the thought of the infection taking over my body. My eyes involuntarily make their way to the pliers I had left at my feet and I begin to debate whether I'm brave enough to take my own life before I become something I do not want to be. "In this life, you kill or you die... Or you die and you kill", your wrong Philip. I will die but I won't kill, if I do what I did to Milton to my self then hopefully I won't become a walker. I'm pretty sure serious head damage prevents someone from becoming a walker.

I take the pliers and stare at the clumpy, dark blood that drip from them. The biting coolness of metal is not as welcoming as it first was when I was trying to break free. Conflicting thoughts interrupt my determination to plunge the tool into my brain.

The sound of a large explosion intrudes the daunting silence of the room, causing me to jolt and my raspy breaths to quicken. The sound wasn't far away. It sounded like a couple of metres from this place. More gunshots and explosions come as I glare at the door in confusion and curiosity. I strain my hearing in an attempt to detect a familiar voice, however all I hear are weapons and screams that get louder and louder.

Eventually, the noise dies down and the fight was over. I'm extremely frightened of what's to come because my expectations are rather pessimistic. Footsteps echo down the hall way outside the torture chamber so I squeeze my eyes tight and try to maintain a stable mental state. Breath Andrea breath. I'm now too fragile to move my whole body and hide, so I look down at the pliers one last time and grasp them with all the strength I have. I clench my eyes together again then I scrunch my face up in fear of the pain I was about to feel.

The door flew open and I quickly plunge the pliers towards my head, "ANDREA!" That voice hits my heart like a tidal wave on a rock. I drop the pliers to the ground, relieved that I have been interrupted. My eyes fly open and more tears fumbled down my distorted, weeping face as I saw Michonne diving to my lap and cupping my face. I see a shimmer in Michonnes eyes, tears? I can't tell, I'd known Michonne for a long time yet I'd never seen her cry. Michonnes motherly gaze is then diverted to the blood stain on my shoulder, then the shimmer in her eyes disappears, replaced by inhospitable glare. Her hand rises to the collar of my shirt and she pulls gently at the clothing to reveal my naked shoulder, covered in warm blood because of the gaping bite the walker has left in it. Michonne's head falls to look at the ground. I can tell she is in a lot of pain because of what has happened to me, her arm is shaking as she is trying to hold back emotion. Our admiration for each other allows me to shuffle my hand on top of hers and hold it as I gradually pass away.

Michonne returns a squeeze of her hand and then rises to her feet. She looks so perfect stood over me like this. The curves of her legs so pronounced from muscle and her large, taunting hips that I never got the chance to put my hands on and never will. Regret poured over me. I should have admitted my love for her earlier so our relationship could have lasted so much longer.

Rick and Daryl stood opposite each other in the doorway. They are both looking down on me with pity and anger, probably because they blame themselves because they didn't make it in time. However, it wasn't their fault, it was all me. Regret ripped at my body as I look at the expressions printed over their faces but I can't apologise as I had no energy to even lift a finger.

Daryl nods at Michonne and then attempts a smile at me, then strode away along with Rick behind him. Daryl isn't much of a smiler. Now that I think about it, the only time i've seen him smile with his teeth is when him and rick would stay watch together and would chitchat the hours away or sometimes just sit silent with each others reassuring company. Their bond was...questionable sometimes. Once I walked to the gate, which they stood guard at, to ask for the whereabouts of Maggie and I saw them with there faces suspiciously close together before they sprinted to their posts in a panic as my footsteps came towards them. When I questioned them about Maggie's location, they were both flustered and they kept stealing glances at each other, thinking I wouldn't notice.

Maybe they were like me and Michonne. Both too afraid to come out because coming out as homosexual or whatever-sexual seemed unimportant in this new world.

My sight returns to her. She's now crouched on her knees, straddling my outstretched legs. Something wet drops on my hand but I am unaware that it's Michonne's tears as her dreadlocks dangle across her face. Depression and guilt washes over me because I know she's crying over me, about what she has to do to me. I strain to speak but I somehow manage to croak her name. Her head snaps up and her bottom lip quivers slightly at the sight of me. Before I knew it, I start to cry silently, just like Michonne. We both continue weeping, making ugly crying faces that morph our face to make us look completely different and catching our breath once we have cried for too long. Michonne cups the back of head with her right hand and leans her forehead against mine. I smell grass and oil on her; everybody has lost their own scent due to the unsanitary fashion of the new world so we all either smell of shit, sweat, piss, mud, oil or grass.

She's quiet now. I take at deep and shaky breath to calm down in my final moments. I look into Michonnes eyes again and she's already looking directly back into mine. We both know what is infesting our thoughts and we will wait no longer for it to just be an idea in our minds.

Michonnes large lips brush over mine in anticipation and permission but before her plump mouth moves away, I muster up my strength and I lean forward to press my lips against hers. It's soft and gentle. Our lips slide over each others in a caring and hungry manner. Michonne's hands run down my back and grasps my waist. I wish I could touch her but I'm too weak to move a muscle in my body, so I concentrate my efforts into the kiss, mine and Michonne's first and final kiss. My heart clenches at that thought but I push it away because I need to feel the electric that runs though me as Michonne caresses my lips with hers.

Once Michonne pulls away slowly, we sit there breathing in each other breaths as our flushed faces are so close. If I could live in this moment forever, I would and I'm certain Michonne would agree with me too.

It was time. I give a tight smile, while I nod at Michonne to indicate that this needs to be done now. The kiss was like a painkiller as I didn't even feel the pain that burns at my shoulder and the booming ache that clawes at my temples. Michonne nods back and reaches for the gun tucked in her belt. She places it in both her palms and glares down at it as her whole body shakes in denial.

My breaths are becoming harder to make so I manage to tear an "I love you" from my throat before they ran out. She cups the back of head once again and replies with the same words. The words that made everything okay as they cuddled my ego and made me feel warm and comforted.

Michonne's hand quivered away. I could see the struggle in every part of her body as she lifted the rusty gun to my temple. We locked eye contact with each other for one last time as Michonne held my hand while she mentally prepares herself for the next step.

She smiles at me for the last time. Her right cheek becomes more perky than the other because she does the cute little side smile. I smile back. She clutches my hand tight as a tear leaves another shiny trail down her face. I clutch back.

Then she pulls the trigger.


End file.
